


The March to Lordran: Supplemental Content

by senatorwiggles



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Berenike - Freeform, Gen, Original Content - Freeform, Supports a different fic, head canon, supplemental work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 14,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/senatorwiggles/pseuds/senatorwiggles
Summary: Supplemental content for The March to Lordran, a prequel fic that follows the knights of Berenike on their pilgrimage to the land of the lords.  Supplemental content includes information on the provinces of Berenike, short myths, and minor histories.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 5





	1. Provinces of Berenike: Kienden

Councilmen: Maria the Restless, Marine the Gloomladen, and Reynard the Fickle

A wide province that stretches from the spine of the Western ridge to the border of Balder. While the river runs through the province, only a small portion of the exports are related to it. Most of the province is rocky and unsuitable for excess farming, so much of the crops are kept within its borders. Kienden has a rich variety of wildlife that supplies meat and leather. Given the proximity of the Struck Tree and the land’s penchant for wildfires, the locals often harvest timber and clear out wide swaths of forest to prevent uncontrolled burns. 

Kienden hosts the funerary site of the Berenike people. The Struck Tree is on the eastern side of the Western Ridge. Most of the population resides in the city near the Struck Tree, but several towns are scattered throughout the region. Most are glorified villages and outposts that are supplied with the infrastructure to house a traveling military unit on the way to war with Balder or to home hunters in the winter. 

As a wide province, it does not have a claim to any specific export or driving force in the economy. There is little to unify the province beyond the Struck Tree, and it’s primarily considered a host of “et cetera.” One is as likely to find a clergyman as they are a merchant or a miner in Kienden. Unlike some provinces, Kienden has no rivalries or particular pride. It is simply there. 


	2. Provinces of Berenike: Torore

Councilmen: Julienne the Bulwark and Helena the Fierce

Torore is a small province that depends on tourism and tithes to fuel its economy. The province claims the tallest of the jagged peaks. As a holy sight, a temple has been built just to the north of the peaks for the Lord of the Storm’s pleasure. The temple is largely open air so that any who stay must experience the regular rainfall and storms that hit the mountains. Additionally, it’s thought that the peaks are one of the few places that their lord rests, and knights will duel in the open grounds of the temple below the peaks for their lord’s favor. 

The clergy of Torore are known for their powerful combat miracles, of which there are two paths. The first path is the path of thunder. Thunder focuses on supporting one’s comrades and augments the group’s overall strength, resistance to injury, and morale. Julienne the Bulwark, a nonbinary cleric-knight, leads the clergy in the path of thunder.

The second path is the path of lightning. Lightning focuses on a single person and largely augments their abilities with electricity. A cleric following the path of lightning is known to crackle with electricity and be nearly untouchable lest those who touch them be shocked. Their miracles extend to throwing lighting and charging their weaponry with lightning. These clerics are primarily offensive and work well as a group with a Thunder cleric supporting them. Helena the Fierce leads the clergy in the path of lightning. 


	3. Provinces of Berenike: Ferre

Councilmen: Black Iron Tarkus and Red Dust "Joule" Julien

Ferre is the home to Berenike’s richest mines. All youth regardless of status or occupation are expected to learn how to seek ore and how to put it to use. The first generation of Ferre suffered from lung conditions until a mysterious cleric taught them a miracle that called upon the river itself. They sing it as they work with their talisman in hand. 

The people of Ferre stick out from their fellow countrymen as they do not sport the same uniform armor. Unlike the other provinces where armor is handed down and fashioned after tradition, those in Ferre are expected to make their own armor and are often named after it. The current councilmen are named for the way they chose to prevent rust. Black Iron Tarkus tossed his armor into the flame repeatedly after oiling it rather than continuously polishing it. This allowed him to be fairly independent but rendered his armor black. 

Red Dust Joule’s armor is not steel but an alloy the contents of which they will not share. While it does not corrode itself, Joule polishes it with red clay. They keep the secrets of their armor to themself. In actuality, it was a gift from the War God that shed the dried blood of his fallen enemies. In times of peace, the clay absorbed the blood to prevent it from getting everywhere. It is fearsome armor in the vision of a beast, and while it is fantastic armor that grants them immense protection, it’s a bit inconvenient. Such is the price of a god’s favor.


	4. Provinces of Berenike: Silverwine

Councilmen: Astor the Hawk and Clement the Trusting

Legend has it that in the core of Silverwine a dragon’s still beating heart was found untouched by the ravages of war and death. The pounding of the everlasting creature’s heart caused the water to dance as it sprung up from deep within the mountain. During their exploration of their newly sunlit lands, the Lords paused in the mountains to rest and sate their thirst, but the water would not stay in their cups. Frustrated but amused, Lord Gwyn tasked the dragon-duke Seathe the Scaleless with taming it. When he finished his work, the water still danced but had calmed enough to consume. The Lords were so taken with the sprightly water that they gifted it a silver sheen. 

Whether or not that came to pass or if a heart of an everlasting dragon remains trapped within the mountains, Silverwine is known for its oddly colored water and unique alcoholic beverages. It’s said the wines made with the silver water give no hangovers and change colors when introduced with poisons. 

Silverwine prides itself on providing the reigning monarch and their council with alcohol for every large celebration and religious ceremony. The crowning ceremony, the challenging ceremonies, the funerals, the festivities-- all of the monarch’s official ceremonies and events exclusively rely on Silverwine’s alcohol. On occasion, the alcohol makes its way out of Berenike into other kingdoms. Given the nature of Berenike and the scarcity of the exports, these drinks are often considered to be too valuable to consume. 


	5. Provinces of Berenike: Light's Gap

Councilmen: Fenton the Silver and Racquel the Shining 

Where Torore welcomes dueling for the pleasure and the honor of the Storm, Light’s Gap is known for the healing arts. An important part of war is being able to maintain the numbers of one’s army. Most prayers focused on healing the body and steadying the hand come from Light’s Gap. The Berenike Battle Prayer, a long chant with interchangeable verses depending on need, was created here by a small group of devoted knights and clergymen. The prayer was specifically constructed so that words may be forgotten or changed but the steady healing effects would remain the same. The more inspired the substituted words or the stronger the faith of the caster, the more effective the miracle. 

The province boasts one of Berenike’s major holy sites: a deep delve into the mountains themselves where no sunlight reaches. It is considered a cleric’s duty to explore the delve and relight the torches that had gone out since the last patrol. In Light’s Gap, part of a squire’s knighting ceremony includes erecting a new torch further than the existing torches. Despite the blatant lack of adversaries, this is considered one of the most dangerous rites of passage throughout the kingdom. Those who completed their knighthood in Light’s Gap are often revered as faithful luminaries. 


	6. Provinces of Berenike: River's Call

Councilmen: Ethel the Wily and Sybil the Silver

River’s Call stretches along the west shore of the Berenike river. There have been territorial disputes between River’s Call and Carinel, the province to the east of the river, over fishing rights. One of the marks of an effective monarch is how well the peace is kept between the two provinces. 

For the most part the provinces are identical in culture and economy. There is little discernible difference between River’s Call and Carinel except for what side of the river they’re located on. Were it not for the fact that  _ food  _ is on the line, there would be no conflict between the two provinces. The provinces have been divided since the founding of Berenike, as two local lords and heads of their families fought over the sole rights over the river’s fishing. The cause for the initial feud is lost to legend, but the consequences remain. 

Under the rule of Queen Concordia, negotiation is reopened every year and led with a duel between the major houses. 

Records of fish caught and the number of each fish species are kept in the River’s Call monastery. Fishermen are required to report their catches so that they can be taxed appropriately and so that the fish populations can be maintained. Under a unifying monarch, the fishermen of the rival province Carinel also report their fishing numbers in an effort to keep the ecosystem healthy for future generations of fishermen. 


	7. Provinces of Berenike: Carinel

Councilmen: Xantha the Golden and Ingram the Firey 

Carinel stretches along the eastern shore of the river Berenike. The current monarch, Concordia the Magnificent, was born in Carinel and knighted as the Steady. It was during a conflict between Carinel and the neighboring province of River’s Call that she began her political career. After smoothing relations between the two provinces, she vowed to prevent pointless infighting destroy her home and to remove the weakened king that could not lead the nation. 

Upon her crowning, it was initially feared and expected that she would favor Carinel in yearly negotiations, but to the dismay of her home province and the surprise of their rivals, she remained fair in her mediation. 

The mark of an effective monarch is how they keep the peace between the rival provinces. Queen Concordia initiates negotiations with a ritual duel where a single representative from each province fights for their provinces’ right to have a voice in negotiation. Once a knight has fought for their province, they are unable to fight again in future negotiation duels. The outcome is largely irrelevant but it allows the political representatives of the winning province to speak first. An entire week is set aside for the negotiations with the Queen as mediator. Few dare risk embarrassing themself in front of her, so her mere presence is typically enough to keep them in line. As a native to Carinel, Queen Concordia has a deep understanding of the conflict and the desires of the two provinces. 


	8. Provinces of Berenike: The Valley Lands

Councilmen: Eunice the Starry-Eyed and Velda the Prosperous 

The Valley lands are located to the west of the main spine of the mountains. They receive the majority of the Storm’s rains and provide most of the agricultural goods throughout the kingdom. Despite being agricultural, the Valley Lands boast the largest amount of knights. 

The knights that hail from the valleys claim that the strength to plow a field and the patience to tend to gardens is identical to the strength and patience needed to succeed on the battlefield. True to their claims, many of their knights tend to be stronger than their neighboring provinces with Ferre as their only equal. 

The province itself is untouched by warfare. Though small kingdoms sprout to the west in the lowlands, the knights are more often called to serve in conquest against Berenike’s eastern neighbor, Balder. When Berenike does march to the west for the glory of its lord, the kingdoms are typically either too afraid to incur the wrath of the Valley knights or simply unable to get past the first ridge of the mountains. 

Despite being on the opposite side of the kingdom, the knights of the Valleys tend to go to blows with the knights of Ferre in good natured sport for the appeasement of their lord. 


	9. Provinces of Berenike: Cold Springs

Councilmen: Jude the Blessed and Laurel the Swift 

The province of Cold Springs spans the border of Balder. The majority of battles initiated by the kingdom of Balder have been against Cold Springs as the province lays claim to the primary water source within Balder. While the River Berenike dwarfs any flowing water in Balder, the Toeh Creek that is responsible for much of the water within Balder starts in Cold Springs. In addition, Cold Springs covers much of the Balder watershed. In short, Berenike controls much of Balder’s water, and in doing so has the power to destroy Balder outside of combat.

But such ways of warfare are not the ways of Berenike. Not when their neighbor is involved. 

Much of Cold Spring’s economy is dependent on the forest. Lumber, hunting, and furs drive the market. The majority of knights in Cold Springs are excellent hunters and skilled in both trapping and archery. Of all the provinces, only the knights of Cold Springs can boast hunting down the Winter Elk with great success. The Winter Elk are largely regarded as semi-deities and are intensely dangerous. They have been known to kill fully armored knights and make light work of the individual hunter. Their crystalline hides and antlers are the most valued export of Cold Springs. 


	10. Provinces of Berenike: Jines

Councilmen: Lenox the Patient and Winslow the Soft 

Jines is the internal trade hub of Berenike. It was named for Saint Jines the merchant knight who was among one of the first knights of Berenike. While all Berenike merchants eventually pass through the province of Jines, what is most remarkable about it is the printing press. At some point during a foreign conflict, the blueprints for the printing press were stolen from a distant country. Knowing the value in written word and literacy, Saint Jines set to work building the press. It would become instrumental in spreading the miracles of their lord and the news of their monarchy without relying on the faith of the clergy. While a faithful could duplicate the written word onto plain paper or parchment, it would drain them and cause them great fatigue compared to the mass copies the printing press could create. 

Because of Saint Jines, Berenike is a fully literate kingdom despite being small and dependent on war. 

Having the largest press in Berenike allows the province to also maintain much of the kingdom’s bookkeeping. The records of fish populations of River’s Call and less frequently of Carinel are duplicated and stored again in the record halls of Jines. The capital may hold the political and religious seat of the monarchy, but Jines holds the records and the banks. It was intentional that the province borders the capital province as though it often acts as a secondary capital, it is constantly within reach of the reigning monarch and the council. 


	11. Provinces of Berenike: Capital

Monarch: Queen Concordia the Magnificent

Council: Gladwyn the Warm, and Lenore the Moonlit 

Berenike was founded deep within the northern mountains. Those who belong to the kingdom simply call the mountain range “The Mountains” for there are no other mountains of consequence. The Lord of the Storm has no name, and neither does their home. Despite the logistics and the absurdity of building a fortress where no one would dare siege, a castle was constructed in the heart of the mountains around a found shrine. Those who founded the kingdom were refugees fleeing from some horror lost to history. They took shelter in the mountains where, according to legend, a dancing flame led them further into the wilderness until they came across a ruined temple to a nameless god. 

The nameless god was the Lord of the Storm, and he uplifted the refugees. In their gratefulness and devotion, they learned the ways of the sword and of the storm and began to build a great city in his honor. Unlike many kingdoms with lords, the Lord of the Storm never remained in Berenike. However he remains as devoted to his people as they are to him. 

It is required for all squires to make a pilgrimage to the capital and pray at the Lord of the Storm’s first temple. This is, perhaps, the easiest part of a squire’s many tasks as all provinces are connected by road to the capital. 


	12. Myths of Berenike: The Winter Elk

Four great souls were found in the age of ancients. These souls once belonged solely to Nito (First of the Dead), Izalith (the Chaos Witch), the Furtive Pygmy (progenitor of humanity), and Gwyn (Lord of Sunlight). It is thought that the everlasting dragons had no souls, but if the lords kept the souls to themselves (aside from the furtive pygmy) then the lordkin and the beasts would have no souls either. This is clearly not the case. 

A mighty soul was once found to the far north of Berenike in the ruins of a city deep within lands that could not provide for such a city much less a kingdom. Who ever had constructed such great walls had long since absconded. The winds never stopped howling in this empty keep.

More fearsome than the lack of living souls or the absence of bodies was the evidence that the lord of the Storm himself had favored the city. Despite having no enemies within hundreds of miles, the barracks were filled with exquisite weaponry and great war technologies. Perhaps it was the lack of war that rendered the city useless-- the Storm would only favor those who partook in battles, and an isolated city with no neighbors to speak of would draw no favor.

There was but one survivor, a young girl wrapped in thin cloth seemingly immune to the cold. She spoke of her father, a king with no heir who had taken her in as his own. A man who had taken in all as his own, and who was loved by his people. His soul was not on par with the Lord’s, and he never claimed it to be, but a fiery greed boiled in the south eager to consume his soul and those of his people. 

The king first sought to protect his people with his army. His knights, faithful and skilled to rival our own, marched against the Greed. Concerned for them, he gave parts of his own magnificent soul to their steeds-- beautiful elk-- and in doing so the creatures took a crystalline appearance. This is not the crystal of the duke, Seathe, but that of ice, for the king’s soul had the aspect of Cold in contrast to Chaos, Sunlight, Death, and Dark. 

Ultimately, the knights failed, and the king was left alone to protect his people. He knew that he could not allow the Greed to overwhelm them, so he ordered their evacuation. His daughter, a child he had chosen and who had chosen him, refused to leave, but she could not stop his parting. He cracked his soul open, and from him burst violent cold. The Greed tried to burn away the cold and consume the soul, but it had dissipated too far and too greatly for it. Spent from its rampage, the Greed subsided. 

All that is left in the frozen kingdom are the king’s elk. Creatures trained for war with the soul of a great king. When the northern winds blow in, hunters both rejoice and lament the great trial to come. 


	13. Myths of Berenike: The River Provinces' Feud

Knight Carinel came from the far west to make a name for himself when he was a child. At eight years old, he had forged his own armor from rusted salvage in his hometown’s blacksmith. He worked the forge at night when no one could see him and question him for his youth. The War God saw the boy and took him aside. 

He said, “O’ Child of Mine, that which you seek cannot be found here. Come find me again in the east across great plains and forests. Find me in my mountains. Know me by my storm.”

Carinel began his journey and collected four of the knights who would join the original council. Of them were Jines the Merchant Knight, Regus the Fisher Knight, Jay the Untitled, and Marie the Frozen. Regus and Carinel became dear friends, and when the time came to rule over the provinces, they divided their land across the river so that they would always be neighbors. Regus taught Carinel to fish and in return Carinel taught Regus proper swordplay. 

As time wore on, their friendship remained strong. Carinel married a woman named Cammile, and Regus stood as Carinel’s second. Eventually Regus married, and the two friends began families of their own. All was well until the queen’s son came of age.

In reality, his marriage meant nothing politically. His mother’s rank did not bequeath him any privilege. His spouse would gain nothing from their marriage, but he was a gentle soul and remarkably handsome. Both Regus’s eldest son and Carinel’s eldest daughter went to court him. Initially it was all in good humor, but then Regus’s son grew ill with great abdominal pains and quickly died. 

Poison, to the Berenike people, is the coward’s weapon. Any murder committed where one party is unaware is considered a mortal sin for a knight to be recognized in death by the Lord of the Storm, they must have gone down fighting. In some tellings, the Storm did not claim the boy’s body. Regus accused Carinel’s daughter of poisoning his son. The moment his words were uttered, the provinces fell to war. 

In some tellings, the Storm himself struck down both knights. In others, they dueled before him and killed each other. Some tales claim that Carinel was poisoned, and while dying he sought out Regus for revenge. Regardless of the truth, the two provinces have never again shared the peace they once supposedly had.


	14. Myths of Berenike: Jines the Merchant Knight

Saint Jines first traveled to the land of Berenike with Carinel and a small group of warriors who were not yet knights. He was not like these warriors-- he had no desire for combat or learning the arts of war, but he felt a calling to travel with them to the heart of the eastern mountains. 

Out of necessity, he learned swordplay from his fellows but he never donned the heavy armor of a warrior. He simply wore the padded clothing and leather cuirass of a scholar. 

It was during their travels that they rested in the castle of a minor lord with a magnificent library. The lord-librarian’s name has been forever lost to history, but Jines quickly grew in her favor. Of all of his companions, he was the most interested in the technology of her people. When his companions readied to move on, he felt a conflicting pull between the mountains and this small land, and he resisted the call of the Storm.

The lord-librarian was ecstatic to have him remain, and as time wore on they grew closer and closer. She had no husband and no heirs. Her people began to push for Jines to offer his hand in union, but he found he could not do so. Though they shared an emotional and physical intimacy typical of married partners, neither ever sought the union. 

In his time with the lord-librarian, he learned how she spread written word throughout her land, how she devised a press to print stamped words, and the secrets of creating paper from the wood of trees. One night well after he had committed the knowledge deep into his heart, he felt the pull of the Storm grip him. He held their son, now a young boy, and looked into the rains hanging over the southern sea. 

When the Storm came for him, he was swept away in a torrent of sea and wind, but when the sky cleared, he stood before his old companions in the new kingdom of Berenike. 


	15. Little History: The Duel

The newly queened Concordia sat upon her stone throne basking in the magnitude of her station. Her first act had been to retitle her predecessor from the Glorious to the Bloody. Nicholas had been responsible for countless domestic failures in the end of his reign, and while he had at one point been a sufficient monarch, he had directly caused several battles to break out between the provinces. His failings had given way to her pilgrimage and her usurpation. It was rare for a monarch to ruin their name so thoroughly that they were retitled, but he had given her no choice. Even his homeland reviled him. 

Through her journey she had collected two knights of every province to support her and act as her councilmen. None of whom had served the previous king. She had chosen those she felt understood their homes, and perhaps because she was young she had chosen many old enough to be her parents. Prior to her journey, she was the ideal age for starting a family, but the kingdom would be her family. She would have no time for something domestic. 

The neighboring kingdom didn’t seem to agree.

The Knight-King of Balder was merely a few years older than she. He was dashing and well loved among his people, and he had regularly written to her with an affectionate hand even before her crowning. She understood his political ploy, and he wasn’t shy about hiding it. 

_Concordia the Magnificent_

_You brush me off so swiftly without consideration for the benefits of a union such as our. You state that to consider lasting peace between our nations an insult to your god, and yet your kingdom has come to our aid more than we have fought. Your god does not care what form war takes so long as you participate, and so I implore you to reconsider, or to perhaps consider for the first time my offer._

_I understand that we have never met and that many will only marry for love, but we have the misfortune of being rulers. Our unions are only ever political. We are bound in love and duty to our people and not to ourselves. Together our kingdoms would be as one. A bastion against any who would dare stand against us. A united front in the name of the Storm and of the Sun._

_Perhaps our union would not be bereft of love, for I have already lost my heart to you. I have heard tale of the woman who’s journey to the throne so clearly mirrors my own, and I can think there must be no other. A knight-king does not come from the blood of his fathers, and a woman who travels and leads a revolt against her own despotic monarch is truly the stuff of legends. I am enamoured with you, and I wish for you to consider me._

_One day you will come to Balder in the spring when the leaves are new and the winds are gentle, and I will look upon you and you upon me, and you will see that this was the truest choice either of us could make. Our nations, beautiful on their own, will be strengthened and unyielding. We will share our youth, and our children will ----_

Concordia crumpled the letter and held it to the candle. “Julienne?” She held her hand out, and the knight placed a pen and paper into it. “Thank you.” With a scoff, she began composing in kind.

_You insult me. You insult my god. A man made king by family line knows nothing of my journey. I will give you one chance to prove your worth. Come to the dueling grounds beneath the Jagged Peak. We will fight in the eyes of my god. Should I lose, you shall have my hand. Should I win, you will never harass me with this nonsense again._

_\--- Queen Concordia the Magnificent_

With a snort, Julienne took the letter. The queen would meet with this king, and she would make a fool of him.

\-----

The Jagged Peak was one of the greatest heights of the Berenike Mountains. Three days before Rendal’s arrival, the clerics of the temple had begun to pray to their god and bring about the Storm. Concordia waited in the center of an open arena with her council and the clergy who followed the path of lightning as her witnesses. She stood free of armor and weaponry with naught but her fists and hunting clothes to protect her. The leather and canvas did nothing to prevent the cold, and Rendal balked when he reached the top.

The man had expected a duel in armor with swords, and he had approached accordingly. But Concordia stood in the torrent with her bright teeth flashing and her musculare stature plain. She was broad shouldered and muscled like an ox. With her hands on her hips and her stance wide in the wind and rain, Rendal began to think he’d made a mistake. But this was the only way to win her over, and gods help him-- he’d do it! Then someone tapped his shoulder.

“Excuse me, King.” One of the Berenike knights, a woman maybe in her forties, leaned close to speak to him over the rain. “You are free to retain your armor and weapons, but know that our Queen has removed hers to give you a fighting chance. You will need all the help you can get.” 

She leaned away with a smile, and immediately the knight-king began to remove his armor. 

“ _Fighting chance?_ Pah.”

He wasn’t an incompetant fool, nor was he so full of himself to assume this would be an easy fight, but he knew that if he wanted to truly win Concordia’s respect, he would have to meet her on her level. He’d never fought hand to hand on top of a mountain on slick stone in a storm, but these were the conditions.

Lightning cracked through the air, a blinding bolt snapping at the Jagged Peak itself, and the clery cried in joy.

“The Storm has joined us!”

“Blessed be this duel!”

“For Berenike!”

Concordia’s face was bright with excitement. She had slain the previous king beneath the gaze of her Lord, and now within months she was dueling another. She only regretted that this fight would be so much tamer. This was to settle a minor dispute and truly better fit the Path of Thunder, but the stage had been set. 

The two circled briefly. Rendal watched waiting for a break in her guard to strike, but before he could make the first move she dropped to the ground and struck his legs out from beneath him. He cried out as he fell forward, but before he could jump back to his feet she was on his back whaling on his head. He squirmed until he could turn beneath her and raise his arms in guard, but she didn’t yet yield. 

Without warning, she lept off of him. Rendal rose, confused and suspicious, and readied himself for another attack. 

“She’s being sporting, idiot!” A voice from the witnesses called. He glared out briefly trying to see who had spoken before turning back to the Queen. He would make her his own. He just had to win this. He darted forward, feinting to the side then lunging into her and tackling her. She fell with a grunt with him on top of her. But as he struggled to follow through, she wrapped her legs around him and flipped him. With her on top, she dug her forearm into his neck. He began to panic and slap at her desperate to communicate that she had done enough, but only after his face turned pink did she relent. 

Running her fingers through her hair, she stood back and opened her arms. He knew it was a taunt. 

“One blow, blueblood! I’ll let you land one blow. Make it count!”

The smugness of her stance, the gleaming self assured smile-- for a moment he saw red. He charged and decked her in the cheek aiming for her eye. He felt the satisfying crunch of broken bone then suddenly her arms were around his hips, lifting him, turning him, and throwing him down. He fell with her as she dropped backwards. He landed on his head with a mighty crack, and he froze in pain and fear. 

The queen stood, leaving him there in a crumpled pile, and bellowed. “The duel has been called. The Storm has seen it’s end. Disappointing. Miserable. Waste of time.” There was another mighty crack, and Rendal came to realize it was that of thunder. “Get out of my kingdom, Balder bluebloods! Know your politics have no place here! Collect your knight-king and never disgrace me with talk of union again!”

As Rendal collected himself, he took a small amount of sick joy in the black eye he’d given her, but even then she smirked.

“Should have aimed for the throat, blueblood. Broken cheeks and black eyes don’t stop anyone.” 


	16. Little History: The Initial Proposal

_ Concordia the Steady, _

_It has been made clear to me how you travel your country to garner support in tearing down the ineffective monarch who currently claims leadership. Though you have made no attempts at diplomacy with those outside of your nation, I assure you that you still have my support. Nicholas the Magnificent has been a thorn in my kingdom’s side since before I was born, and to see someone as capable as you leading the march to take him down brings hope to Balder._

_I recognize that this is a purely internal affair, and I will not offer you aid in this journey of yours. I know it would be rejected if I did not out of pride but necessity. Any future monarch who attempts to rule with the support of another nation is merely viewed as a pawn. I do not wish to undermine your future rule. I have no doubts that you will succeed, and perhaps when you do our nations’ futures can be discussed._

_Knight-King Rendal_

\-----

_ Knight-King Rendal _

_You are correct. I would reject any aid from outside my nation. This is an internal affair to be resolved by those of Berenike without the influence of meddling outsiders. Consequently, your support means nothing to me. Perhaps, Rendal, you should read a history book-- assuming your country keeps those. Our nations have always fought like siblings, and we will continue to do so. Unless your people have suddenly decided to convert to the worship of the Storm and the spirit of war, then there is no reason for our relationship to change._

_However, the Storm desires good war. A war among equals. Not a slaughter. When I ascend to the throne, you will have a grace period to build your defenses once again. We will not immediately come for you. You will know when we have begun an offensive, as you have your spies and we have our tells. I will make no further promises._

_Concordia the Steady_

\-----

_ Concordia the Magnificent _

_I write to you in congratulations. Any king torn down by his own people is not fit to rule, and in the four long years from the beginning of your journey to this culmination, I cannot imagine there to be any more qualified a monarch than you for your nation. I would like to meet with you in celebration of this momentous occasion. While I understand you have little intention of being a peaceful neighbor, I would still like to congratulate you in person. Consider it a political move._

_I know you were not tutored as I was in politics and that your nation’s idea of international relations is different than mine, but I know you are an intelligent woman who will take such an opportunity to learn her neighbors methods. Congratulating a monarch in person is one such method. I have no reason to assume it would endear my nation to yours, but perhaps I am naive and simply hopeful. Perhaps I simply wish to meet you._

_Knight-King Rendal_

\-----

Rendal really did admire Concordia. He had never met the woman, but she was only a few years younger than himself, and he’d followed her path through Berenike to depose the old king. Rendal himself had been born royalty but then endeared himself to his people through his study of the blade and of war. He’d heard his entire life of their terrible western neighbors-- kingdom of knights that held hostage the source of Balder’s water-- and when he had been crowned at eighteen upon the death of his father, word came of a young woman gathering a small following to depose the tyrant of Berenike. He became smitten with the idea of her. 

His advisers said little when he first started to write to her. He was writing with the hopeful infatuation of a young man and the idealist notion of a peaceful monarch.

“My king,” one of them had said. “If she does marry you, it will mean nothing to her nation. Please consider more useful marriage candidates.”

“Ser King,” another had said while taking the letter from him. “Please allow one of us to read over your letters before you send them. You would do well to let your advisers _advise._ ”

“She’s the queen of _Berenike,_ my lord.” An older adviser, one much like an uncle to the young king, had said. “She would rather die than marry you. It is nothing personal, but I don’t think you understand just how zealous those people are. They live by the sword and die by the sword. Any other death is shameful. If she accepts your hand in marriage, she is shaming herself _and_ her kingdom.”

“Rupert.” Rendal glared at the man. “What kind of king would I be if I did not at least _try?_ And surely she will understand that the benefits of our union far outweigh the negatives.”

She didn’t. 

Concordia had allowed his visitation, but the moment he began to compliment her, she rebuffed him. Instead of a feast filled with drinking, she celebrated his arrival with a series of duels fought to first blood. Rendal watched in horror as knights who had suffered wounds simply tended to them with holy magics then stood for their next set. One woman, a woman old enough to be his grandmother, had her wrist cut and the tendons severed. Though she bled freely at first and could not hold her sword, another woman stood by her side-- a woman who was clearly _not_ a knight-- and held her hand until the wound had sealed and the tendons reconnected.

The ages of the knights were not so strange to him-- somewhere from sixteen and onward was the norm for Balder as well, but that unarmored squires fought in the duels with sharpened blades concerned him. A child no older than ten wielded a blade bigger than herself. If she managed to land a blow, it would surely kill her opponent. Yet no one died.

Rendal realized he needed a new approach.

“Queen Concordia,” he began leaning over his chair to speak to her while she watched the squires vie for her attention. “I have never had the honor of seeing your knights in peacetime.”

She cocked a brow. 

“Take it in, Blueblood. This may be the last time you have the chance.” The nickname grated on Rendal’s nerves. She refused to acknowledge him as a ruler when she used it. He was there because of who his father was. It didn’t matter that his position as his father’s son had allowed him an education no one else in his kingdom could have ever gotten. It didn’t matter that he fought to be worthy of his nation. He was simply blueblooded royalty to her. 

“Perhaps.” He leaned back in his chair. “Or perhaps not. Having allies helps in war, after all. I’m sure you are aware of Balder’s troubles with our eastern neighbors. If we could come to an agreement, then Berenike could march through Balder freely…”

“It is not our duty to fight your wars for you, Blueblood. We pick and choose _our_ wars. That is our way.”

“Now hold on a moment-- if we could unify our kingdoms, perhaps through political marriage, then you wouldn’t be the queen of _just_ Berenike but Balder too--”

“Ha!” Her laugh cut through the festivities. “Queen of Balder?” She stared at him with a mix of contempt and disbelief. 

“Yes. Then Balder’s wars would be your wars to fight as well, and you could--”

“No. Ha! No.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Of course you don’t. Don’t insult me by bringing this up again.”

Rendal sat there, stunned and looking out over the children dueling. He remained quiet on the subject afterwards, but it would not be the last time he suggested it.


	17. Family Tales: Bringing Guillaume Home

Bernard had left for the temple that morning. Years ago he had put in his name with the orphanage. It was rare for a child to be found without a parent or a guardian, and typically an orphan was the product of tragedy. Bernard didn’t care-- he had a lot of love to give, and he knew it. He wanted to raise a child both from some broody instinct and from the desire to help someone who needed it. A week before, a woman came to the temple unable to care for her future child. Though she had not intended to bear a child, she couldn’t bring herself to be rid of it without ensuring its future.

The spirit of the River must have taken her to Kienden, for though she was nearly due, the clerics simply smiled and took her in. Their confidence and ease with the situation spoke volumes. A week came and went, and after the most grueling experience of her life had finally come to a close, she saw the man who took the child. 

She wanted no part in the child’s life, going so far as to even avoid learning their gender, but a weight lifted from her conscience when she saw the new father. Through the open door she saw the man bob and swing with the babe tucked against his shoulder. The child, still bloody, wailed until a nurse held a bottle out for the man to take and feed his newborn. She looked around waiting to see the man’s partner, but none came. It was then she realized why she’d done this. Not for the child. The kindness was for this man. She slept more soundly and securely than she had in years.

Bernard returned home with the little boy in his arms. The child slept swaddled in the blanket his Nana had made for him. A week ago he’d been informed there’d be an infant without a home, and without missing a beat, Bernard had told them that the child did indeed have a home. His home. He walked through the streets towards their home in the mid spring. The only thing that could rival the brightness of his smile was the shining sun.

And the boy, the little ugly pink newborn, was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life. His arms were little jelly rolls, his belly round, his legs fat sausages. His eyes, when they opened, were a beautiful warm brown, and on his soft little head were the starts of fine blonde hair. He slept now. On his father’s shoulder, he was safe and warm.

“Guillaume,” Bernard whispered into the boy’s ear. “I hope you like that name. It’s yours. No one can ever take that from you. Not even your granmama. She wants to give you a nickname. You can let her if you want, but you don’t have to.”

Before Bernard could push open the door to his home, it flung open with his mothers and his brother eagerly waiting. His mother’s hair was frazzled behind her head, a red mess in a ponytail. She smiled like she was about to pounce, but his nana held her back. His nana puffed her chest in pride.

“Look at that kiddo! Has my blond hair!”

“Cheryl,” his mama began. “That’s not how it works.”

“Oh hush, Franny. Let me have a little fun. Bernie!” His nana flung open her arms. “Come here! What’s the booger’s name? Do they have a name? Are we defaulting with boy or girl? But be careful-- our family is fickle.”

Bernard leaned into the hug, careful not to let his mothers squish his child. “Guillaume. His name is Guillaume.” His mothers shared a look before turning back to dote on their grandson. Ernest simply hung back watching. He’d never seen such a freshly born babe, and the absolute helplessness of it astounded him. He watched the three of them dote all over the infant, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit detached. The last time he’d seen a baby, it’d been Hamlin’s kid. And around when Elizavet had been born, he’d had a falling out with her uncle. He had no idea what to do with this thing.

But his mothers and his brother all seemed to understand what needed to be done. They bathed the child in warm water, cleaned the diaper, swaddled the little one again, and prepared a bottle of goat milk for him. All the while Ernest sat back and watched. But when the child began to cry, Ernest felt a rage well in him. It was something he did not know. A terrible pain and frustration. Bernard was calm as he began to pat the baby’s back, but Ernest couldn’t stand it. He stood suddenly and marched out the front door.

The moment he was out of ear shot, his anger subsided. He tried to clear his head so he could look back on it, but the sound was so horrible that just thinking about it brought back some of that rage and frustration. He walked through the mountain paths for some inconsequential amount of time, then turned home. His nana was waiting at the door.

“I… I’m sorry, Nana. I don’t. I don’t know why. I just. I couldn’t.” He hung his head in shame, his shoulders sagging.

“I know, Ernie. I raised you. I saw this coming. I have something for you.” She gave the most devious smile before holding out two pieces of rolled soft leather. “Stick them in your ears when you hear lil Gilly start going. It won’t be so bad. You were a crier too.”

Still ashamed, Ernest took the ear plugs and followed her in. Bernard smiled seeming to have forgiven him for storming out the moment things got loud, and Ernest felt himself grow a little more comfortable. Dinner was swift and subdued, and as the family gathered to chatter, Bernard fell asleep on the couch with his baby on his chest.


	18. Family Tales: The Knighting of Ernest

Ernest stood nervously in the small room near the altar of the chapel. He could hear himself breathe, and it was driving him crazy, but he knew he had nothing left to do. This was just a ceremony. A ceremony that would mark him as an adult _despite_ the fact that his facial hair was still patchy and his face was still round. All he had to do was kneel and let someone put a helmet on his head, but he couldn’t help but feel like an ill prepared child.

His hands looked weird in his uncle’s gauntlets. He still had a few years to grow, so his knight hadn’t thought it worth the effort to tailor the gloves just to change them back before the year was out. Better to be a bit too big than far too small. His knight, Maria, stood next to him looking remarkably calm. 

“Relax, Ernest.” She dropped a heavy hand on his newly armored shoulder. “The worst kind of title you could get is something like ‘the Brave.’ You’re not going to get that.”

His face fell in horror at the blatant insult. Ernest’s eyes began to water, and he did his best not to cry, but he couldn’t help it. His own knight admitting he was a coward... Maria immediately recognized her mistake and shook him. 

“No! Boy! Oh gods… You’re a brave kid-- you just worry too much. It’ll be fine.”

A chime rang in the other room, and Maria quickly pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed his face. Ernest took a long shaky breath before turning from her resolved in his duty to see the final step through.

The chapel was the most ornate building in the town. It was built of stacked stone then carved from the inside out. For lack of stained glass, the windows were made of thin colorful fabrics stitched together in such a way that the shadows cast danced with the breeze. The greys and blues and yellows of it wobbled like light at the bottom of a river. 

Everyone Ernest knew was sitting in the pews at the front of the chapel. He swallowed thickly as he tried to avoid their eager gazes. Bernard beamed the brightest of them all, and when he caught his brother’s gaze, he felt a little better. 

To the front standing on either side of the town’s bonfire and altar were four knights he didn’t recognize with the sword of his great grandfather and the helmet of his uncle on the altar between them. He knew they’d be there. Both the people and the items. Strangers were always present for this. It was strangers who decided the title, and it was they who would bequeath it. Maria took her place in the middle of them in front of the altar and waited for Ernest to kneel before them.

“Squire to the Restless

loyal to a fault,

resolute to the end,

and dependable without question.

Ernest we have heard of your deeds and the strength with which you carry them out.

To no cause are you devoted, but Devoted you will always be.”

He did his best not to let out a sigh of relief, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was loud, and he thought someone chuckled behind him, but he didn’t care. He was _devoted,_ not something unfortunate like _depressed_ or _moody_ or any number of things Maria had once jokingly suggested to him. He pushed that out of his head as two knights collected the sword and the helmet from the altar. Ernest waited with his head bowed as one of the knights gently placed the helmet upon him, and, with it placed, he raised his hands to accept the sword.

Upon the sword’s blade were carved the titles of his family. Aspirant. Tired. Kind. Quiet. Sharp. Devoted. _Devoted._

Ernest blinked. His title had been marked twice. Wide eyed, he looked up to Maria who simply smiled. He stood, a fully fledged knight of Berenike, to face his family with his bafflement plain for all to see, but his mothers both looked at him with a sort of sly satisfaction. And then it came to him. His great grandfather, a man he’d never met, must have had the same title. Ernest was not the first Devoted in the family. Though he had no memories or stories to know his grandfather by, in that moment he felt a deeper kinship with him than anyone living. 


	19. Ursinius's Journal

_13th Spring’s Breath [Daily entry]_

_Brother Ursinius’s Journal_

_We have been joined by a herald of the false gods. I have no interest in what the man has to say, but my blood brother Ulysses has taken a morbid liking to him. I would rather kill him and be done with it rather than risk Ulysses’s faith. Ulysses has written to me several times, and each time I have urged him to be rid of the herald._

\-----

_16th Spring’s Breath [Daily Entry]_

_Brother Ursinius’s Journal_

_It seems Ulysses has taken my advice. His letter was curt and morose, but it is always better to listen to your superiors. I would hate for my blood brother to be the subject of inquisition. I believe I will visit him. Perhaps I can help him make sense of the false herald’s ramblings._

\-----

_21st Spring’s Breath [Evening]_

_Brother Ursinius's Journal_

_Guards have reported that the brass armor has come to life to exact revenge upon us. Nonsense. They are a superstitious lot. The armor has clearly been stolen and worn by some person who wishes harm upon us. They will be ratted out and publicly executed._

\-----

_22nd Spring’s Breath [Evening]_

_Brother Ursinius’s Journal_

_Word came of a cursed nation earlier this morning. A man on horseback was spotted to the north coming down the road from the neighboring kingdom of Catarina, but he was not flying their colors. Suspicious, he was collected and brought to the local lord for questioning. Upon discovering his relationship with a barbarous nation to the far north, he was detained for inquisition._

\-----

_23rd Spring’s Breath [Morning]_

_Brother Ursinius’s Journal_

_As the Second Brother in my monastery, I have taken a keen interest in history and old mythologies. I have read about the hollow man from ages past before the Allfather came to us and freed us from such monstrosities. It seems that the curse of the Old Gods has found its way up from the depths of the good earth in the heathen nation._

_The man appears to be of good health and continued to implore passage for his people. He had most of his teeth and his gums were pink. For detachment’s sake, I will be referring to him as our undead subject. The subject shows no sign of apparent hair loss or other illness and is perhaps in his twenties. When questioned, he bowed his head and said he was eighteen and chosen for his lightness. Evidently that was a benefit for riding horseback such distances._

_We are well aware of the Old Gods’ demon. A woman greatly misguided has made attempts on the lives of several of our clerics who wish to understand the cursed nation that began its march through our unsullied roads. We have yet to detain her. We currently plan on using this lad as bait._

_Before such a thing is done, it is my solemn duty to record the tale of such a wretched creature as our first subject._

_Subject was born in a barbarous kingdom to the far north amidst the mountains. The kingdom worships a god so heathenous as to not even be known to the Old Gods’ people and who does not so much as have a name. This supposed deity is simply referred to as “the Storm.” Subject was born in a religious village where people and warriors would battle to the death for the pleasure of their supposed god. Their religion is a violent one that depends on constant war. It is likely that they were cursed for their obvious barbarous ways._

_There is nothing further to be gleaned._

\-----

_23rd Spring’s Breath [Mid-Day]_

_Brother Ursinius’s Journal_

_A most fantastic specimen was acquired! A ripe undead was apprehended yester-evening when it made the mistake of leaving the pack to wash its clothing. The subject is currently restrained but fully capable of speech and visual recognition. Subject appears to retain all tactile sensation as well as auditory. Subject feels pain on a level expected with the living. What is most fascinating is that the subject appears to be dead. Long dead._

_Subject’s eyes are clouded with advanced cataracts. The right side of the subject’s face is entirely desiccated in a fashion expected of a corpse left to rot in a cool dry place while the rest of the subject’s face is still soft if drastically discolored. Subject’s apparent healthy skin tone is closer to mud than what we consider to be a human skin color, but much of the subject’s flesh has turned orange, purple, or green. When removed of clothing, a large circular mark of twisted flesh was found on the subject’s breast above its heart._

_The subject’s tale was short and spiteful. Largely filled with obscenities and a lack of cooperation._

_All things considered, this subject will provide marvelous fuel for the bonfires. The Allfather provides._

\-----

_23rd Spring’s Breath [Night]_

_Brother Ursinius’s Journal_

_The trap for the old gods’ demon has been placed. The witch will undoubtedly take the bait. She will be captured and tortured so that we may learn what her predecessor would not share._

_As I record this entry, we are preparing the second subject for the rite of kindling. It was discovered that simply throwing the undead upon the flames was not enough, and that the flame appeared to heal previously afflicted wounds. Perhaps the subject must undergo a second death to truly be viable. As second death will likely be permanent and we do not have a similar specimen, that will be our final option._

_The specimen has been brought to the bonfire within the chapel. The bonfire has weakened dramatically over the past century and is more typical of a healthy campfire rather than a proper bonfire. In my youth, the flames reached above my father’s head. Now they reach my knees._

_Upon being placed upon the flames, the specimen’s body seemed to recover some amount of vigor as well as repairing wounds. The clerics are pouring over texts in an attempt to discover how the undead are to fuel the Flame. We know it to be possible, but the method has been lost to us._

_There is a clamor above. The guards are making their way to a disturbance. This is not my concern. The wretched herald is under the jurisdiction of brother Ulysses. As his half brother, I have faith in his abilities._

_The clerics have returned. It is the bones of the undead that feed the Flame. Our bonfire sits upon ash, but that ash was once bone. It seems that a second death will be necessary after all._


	20. Ulysses's Journal

_ 4th Spring’s Breath [Mid-day] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ A man claiming to be the “Herald of the Dark Moon” appeared in our square to deliver a message from his false goddess. I was called to deal with this poser and heretic, and he was easily swayed into joining us for a meal. I have attached the notes I took to the page. Read below. _

_ -The Undead Curse is upon all mankind _

_ -A mark, circular like a cattle brand, will appear upon the breasts of those ‘chosen’  _

_ -All undead are to travel to the land of the old gods for a quest _

_ -the false god “Gwyndolin” is leading this _

_ -change and retribution _

_ -vague mentions of the false father god, Gwyn _

_ We are keeping this herald, a man named ‘Samson’, within the confines of the keep. He is well armed with both a curved sword, an opulent set of armor, and the supposed miracles of his false goddess.  _

\-----

_ 4th Spring’s Breath [Evening] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ It is unsure if Samson is lying or incompetent. He is fully aware of my journaling as we speak, and yet he makes no attempt to hide information. According to him, the undead will rot in both body and mind until the curse is broken, but he will not mention how to break the curse. The only apparent cure is to slaughter other undead to sate the curse’s thirst for life. That would, most certainly, destroy a kingdom from within. _

_ I will send someone to work on him. We will see what a light touch can coax from him before we turn to something harder.  _

\-----

_ 5th Spring’s Breath [Morning] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ The false herald wished to discuss the religion of our land, and being the dutiful monk that I am, I began the lecture on the Allfather and His origins. Samson was not apparently swayed, but his interest is promising. Perhaps we could have a formidable ally on our side. _

_ The maid I sent to his chambers brought back news of success. Her means of obtaining information were unusual as she claimed our guest did not touch her, but maids often say such things to maintain appearances.  _

_ The curse has begun to spread from the north. It is not likely that we will bear the misery of it quite yet, and so we have time to prepare.  _

\-----

_ 15th Spring’s Breath [Midnight] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ The deed is done. The false gods’ herald was a dead end or a lie. We will not welcome such heresy in our homes. _

\-----

_ 21st Spring’s Breath [Morning] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ A demon plagues our halls. The ornate armor of the false gods’ herald was stolen, and those guarding it slain. Their right ears had been sliced free from their bodies as some act of barbaric warning. I have stationed extra guards throughout the monastery to protect our more vulnerable members. _

_ Bodies of the maid and those involved with the more sinister manners of information gathering were left on display in the great room. Ears removed.  _

\-----

_ 22nd Spring’s Breath [Evening] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ The demon has been spotted. The armor that was stolen appears to have been animated and is now taking revenge. _

_ Misinformation. A paladin arrived upon horseback to aid us with our problem. He delivered a mighty blow to a resounding scream. The supposed demon is a woman in armor much like the false gods’ herald. I pity her, for she is no match for a paladin of Thorolund. _

\-----

_ 23rd Spring’s Breath [Mid-day] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ An undead nation! A well and truly undead nation! Marching through our country! Incredible. We will not need the help of some false gods’ herald. The Allfather provides. I watched as the undead man begged for the safe passage of his people. He had no true idea of what was to become of him and seemed unable to comprehend our treatments. It is for the best that he does not, for he will be bait for the demon. When she is dead, perhaps we can relax. At least we can celebrate her death. _

\-----

_ 24th Spring’s Breath [Morning] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ God’s blood! My brother is dead! I can barely bring myself to recall the sight, but it is forever etched upon my brain.  _

_ I awoke to the song of a chitterbird, as is common this time of year, and sought out my breakfast in the dining hall. I made my way through hushed whispers and muted cries to the front of the monastery, and there before my eyes was the grisly sight of my brother’s demise. It was ghastly. I cannot write further. _

_ I fear for my life. That the demon that took my brother stalks me next. _

_ She took the wrong bait. _

\-----

_ 25th Spring’s Breath [Morning] _

_ Brother Ulysses Journal _

_ The demon will not haunt us if there is nothing to hold her here. Tonight when all is quiet, I shall pin the undead in its final death and carve free its bones for the Flame. _


	21. Dear Val

_ Dear Val, _

_ The strangest and most marvelous thing happened! After Bernard’s funeral, Gui brought back a man! And my uncle immediately took to him! Well, first at some point Guillaume snuck away from the funeral because he didn’t want to think about his dad being dead. Then he brought back the most dead looking man I’ve ever seen. This guy looks like he’s been rotting out in the sun for a few weeks. Or days. Some parts of him are more dead than others. Anyways, for some reason uncle Randolf took a liking to him, and he’s been following him around like his own personal bodyguard. The man’s name is Mitchel, by the way. I’d like to say that my uncle has the romantic bug for this man, but I think it’s something all together different. _

_ We met with rocky ground last night, and the fields have turned into woods. I miss the wide open sky even if it made me feel a little exposed. It reminded me of you. And these trees are different from the ones I know. Just subtly.  _

_ I’ll write soon! Much affection, _

_ Elizavet _

_ Dearest Valentina _

_ You were right about Thorolund. Hardly a day had gone by before the front scout  _ _ and _ _ Mitchel went missing. Leopold arrived this morning to greet Ernest, but Randolf caught him and mentioned Mitchel. We gave it some time thinking maybe Mitchel just needed space, but Gui was getting agitated. He was worried one of our own had harmed him, but it seems that the Berenike people had left him well enough alone. I’m not sure what would be worse-- a hostile nation or our own turning in on itself.  _

_ Apparently there was another herald sent to a nearby keep when my people were first cursed, but he stopped reporting in. A second herald and more skilled Blade was sent after him, and it was this herald who told Leopold what had happened to our scout and maybe to Mitchel. I’m not on the rescue team. Randolf is angry that he’s been told to stay behind, but I think that’s wise. He mentored me. He doesn’t have a cool head.  _

_ The rescue team is going to be Bernard, Ernest, Leopold, the mystery Blade, and a councilman from Ferre. I can't remember the names of the councilmen, but I hope I get to meet whoever it is. I have no doubt we can handle this. I feel sorry for those involved. Ferre is the province known for mining and blacksmithing, so I bet they're going to be really buff. They also all have really weird armor-- it's a point of pride. I cannot WAIT to see what they look like! I’m giddy. _

_ I’ll write you when this is over _

_ Elizavet _


	22. Hamlin's Journal

Day 18

Yester morning the ground gave way to a sort of natural gravel more similar to what we’re accustomed to. We traded a jar of honey for feed for our oxen in hopes that the treat will inspire them to travel further. Or perhaps Guillaume has won me over, and I find the beasts to be quite agreeable myself. Elizavet and I have spent more time helping to groom them, though I’m not sure they need to be as thoroughly brushed as Guillaume claims. They boy has always had a knack for people and beasts. I’ve said it before, and I will say it again. He should not make his life on the sword. I remember when his father was soft as water. I hate to watch the same thing happen to his son.

But I’ve written about that before. Many times. 

We saw more of those waxwings Elizavet named. She gives the name credit to Leopold, and I believe it. Knowing my daughter, she would have named them something simpler and more to do with their color than their texture. I did not wish for her to be a knight either, but she would not be swayed. I can only hope that I can guide her through her life without her turning to stone. Perhaps after this journey she will find her sweetheart again, and together they can be soft. 

I know when she gets a letter from Val. She disappears for some time and comes skipping back beaming like the sun itself….

Day 19

Mitchel has gone missing. He’s only been with us a few days, so I am not particularly worried. We attempted to be kind and welcoming, but none of us are particularly good at lying. We were warming up to him, but I think our hesitation was clear and potentially painful. I pray that he finds somewhere he belongs. I do wish we had been more welcoming. Something tells me we will all look like him in due time.

Guillaume is particularly distraught. He feels responsible, and Mitchel’s disappearance is eating at him. Many things have been eating at him lately, and I desperately hope he does not succumb to the curse like my mother. Storm guide us, I think resolve is the only thing that will see us through. Storm forgive me, but I don’t think my mother had the resolve. She couldn’t leave our home. I wonder how many were left behind just like her. I wonder if she was alone.

Day 20

I’m writing to distract myself-- the back of the cart is rather difficult to write in, but it’s better than walking. I can keep it out of the drizzle better.

Leopold appeared but before he could reach Ernest (he’s so cute when he’s soft on Ernie. Ernie doesn’t feel the same, and I’m sure Leopold knows it, but he’s so sweet on him…) Randolf cut him off. Randolf has never really gotten over Ernest, so I thought he was going to try and confront Leopold and chase him off, but before I could intervene, Leopold disappeared in a golden circle! Randolf got defensive when pressed, of course, but he claimed he just mentioned that Mitchel was missing…

Well later Bernard and Ernest left in full gear. I wasn’t paying enough attention at the time, but Elizavet was pouting that she didn’t get to meet some councilman or go on an adventure to save Mitchel. 

I asked her what was happening. She and Randolf were preparing their own gear and moving to the perimeter as guards. Evidently Thorolund has been capturing civilians under our noses, and having the knights mingled with the caravan isn’t enough deterrent. They have to make their presence apparent. 

It rained for the better part of the afternoon. Had to stop writing. Still haven’t heard from Ernest or Bernard or even Leopold. Guillaume is sitting on the front of the cart (next to me now) in full armor. I’ve never seen the boy look so upset. So grumpy. It’s a look that does not sit upon him well. I have no doubt he’ll be smiling once Elizavet returns.

I have never known anyone to be blessed with such powerful friendship. I am both grateful and jealous. 


	23. Chandra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year!

“My Blade, one of thine number has yet to return.” The chamber was long and warm and filled with moonlight. The goddess sat upon a delicate throne backed in a mosaic of brightly lit stained glass. For now she was a shadow framed in brilliant silver looking down upon her faithful human. The woman, the knight, knelt before her with her head bowed, and the Dark Moon felt her displeasure clearly. 

“Speak the word, my goddess, and I shall haunt them until their merciful ends. They have sinned against thee-- I know them. I know the land. I know what has transpired.”

“Then avenge thy brother. Goest forth with my blessing. Doest as thou wilt.”

\-----

Thorolund. 

Chandra had been born and raised as a very different person in the stifling embrace of the duchy. The great house was subservient to Carim but the duke had managed to fool their neighbors into believing they had their sovereignty. Carim at most allowed their religious freedom-- the three goddesses didn’t much mind if the small duchy to the east fooled around with false gods so long as  _ their  _ chosen land was kept warm and comfortable on the taxes of the mislead fools. 

But even the clergy of Carim recognized the great lords of old. They recognized a Blade of the Dark Moon and gave way when they saw one march down their streets. The Goddess of Sin and the Dark Moon were deeply entangled. Repentance and Retribution went hand in hand in more ways than one. Thorolund held no such recognition. There they worshipped a fall idol, a figure called “Allfather Llyod” despite having no proof of existence, and somehow managed to summon miracles for the farce. 

She had been born into that. She had been considered the oldest son for a cleric of moderate rank, and her entire life she had been lied to. She lied to herself that she was the son of a man who worshipped the truest of gods. She lied to herself that she was happy with the path set before her. She lied to herself that the only way to appreciate the small good in her miserable life was to  _ suffer.  _ She had not sinned against the gods, but she had sinned against herself. 

A cleric of the goddess of tears, Caitha, had found her first. She had found Chandra deep in grief and self hatred, and together pleaded to the goddess for relief. Her journey had taken her through Carim to the goddess of sin, to Velka. Her recovery was a blur, but on the night of her knighthood, Gwyndolin, the very Dark Moon herself, gave her a name. And now it was her misfortunate start that made her uniquely suited to the job her goddess had given her. 

Through the Dark Moon’s graces, Chandra arrived at the north east fortress entirely unrecognizable to those who might once have known her. Her already fair hair and skin had grown paler during her years as a blade, and were it not for her age, she would have had men thoughtlessly fawning over her. She smirked as she drew attention. Twenty years ago, they were crushing her soul, and now they stopped what they were doing to watch her pass. She never had time for men anyway.

The first night she stayed at a ratty in. Her armor was hidden away through a miracle her knight-captain had once taught her. It was a modified tale of “Homeward” that could carry a faithful caster to the bonfire of their hometown or wherever their heart knew to be home. In this case, the tale would bring her armor to her, and no one would be wiser. For now she was just a beautiful woman passing through a town all by her lonesome. 

When she stopped for food on the first floor, Chandra’s stomach grumbled not in hunger but in nausea. She knew full well that it was typical to keep the same bowl of stew cooking for weeks on end, and she wasn’t looking forward to how inevitably greasy it would be. Nor did she look forward to drinking the watered down beer, but she knew it was safer than the water itself. It was a far cry from the care with which those in Anor Londo or even Carim prepared their meals. All she needed to do was stomach enough to keep going and to eat quietly enough to hear the local gossip.

She almost winced when she saw her father. 

He passed her without so much as a glance and took to a table nearby. His voice made her emotions roil with hatred and fear. She had no reason to fear him now, but a decade of life under his rule surfaced with a word. 

“Ulysses,” her father said to the man he joined. “You think we should put it on display or should we send it to the great house as a gift?”

“Well, Brother Ursinius, if we display it, we must keep it well guarded. Armor like that, even of a heathen, is rather--”

Her fear of her father fell away from her like a fart in the breeze. She blotted out the rest of their words lest she snap and cut them down prematurely, and before finishing her food, she stepped out into the warm night air. There was a stench she never wanted to smell again, the smell of shit on the road, and she did what she could to keep her face straight. If the clerics had the armor, then they had Samson. If they had Samson, he’d be in the monastery. 

Under the cover of evening she approached the monastery’s servant entrance. None of the church’s underfed orphans said a word when she slipped past them and lifted a hunting bow from its stand. It had neither arrows nor string, but she didn’t need either. The precaution to stop the orphans from poaching meant nothing to her. Then she turned to the oldest child.

“You there, with the hungry eyes.”

The girl recoiled upon being addressed.

“Tell me where the man with the golden armor is, and I will bring you bread enough to last the week.”

The child faltered, but another much smaller one spoke for her. “He was a guest of the Allfather. He grew suddenly ill, and I heard the brothers say he’d died of heresy and heathenism.” Another child smacked the little one when she’d mentioned the man had died, but upon seeing Chandra’s tightly leashed fury, they scattered away to pass the night in fear.

With the unstrung bow in her left hand and her talisman in her right, she marched out of the servants’ quarters and into the main hall. 

_ “Goddess, may my aim be true. May my bow be strong. May my vengeance be righteous.” _

A thin blue light appeared to string the bow, and when she placed her talisman against it, an ethereal arrow nocked. She was indiscriminate. Any who saw her or who might see her felt the punishment of the Dark Moon. She followed the hallways she once knew so well to the treasury. Each person, guard or monk, who happened in her way died swiftly to her arrows. From each corpse, she took the right ear. Her souvenir of reprisal. 

With a trail of blood and bodies behind her, she fell upon the last two guards between her and her target. They saw her reach for the armor as they bled out. The blue light of her goddess’s miracle sending the armor home swirled about her, and when the alarm had finally been rung, she was gone.

She spent the next morning bribing the servants with food. A young man in his twenties allowed her into the apothecary’s study. The young man stood nervously outside. She knew he was simply hungry, and she knew that if he had done something to Samson that he had no power to resist the orders of his ‘betters’. When she found the apothecary’s journal and skimmed it, she wanted to laugh. The bastards had poisoned him. Samson had died to simple white arsenic. A horrible way to go. She would make certain that everyone responsible died in a just and suitable manner.

That night, she remained to listen to the gossip. Something held her in place-- a gut feeling she associated with her goddess’s guiding hand-- and so she remained.

“They sent a paladin!” She heard one voice whisper to another. “An actual paladin-- he had a horse and armor and everything.”

“Why would they send a paladin here?”

“Well…” the first person lowered his voice. “Word on the low is that someone went in and murdered a bunch of people in the keep. Evidently we were hosting some heathenous cleric, and when he died his spirit came back to haunt us. Maybe he never got to see the Allfather’s light, and he just needs to be shown the way. With a morning star this time.”

Chandra snorted. Weak beer shot out of her nose, and she struggled with the pain.

“There something wrong, lady?” The second man stood up and stepped over to her. “You think ghosts are funny?”

“Hey now!” The first man put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Easy. You don’t talk to ladies like that. We’re sorry to bother you, miss.” 

She looked up to the two men and batted her eyes. “Oh, it’s nothing. But I couldn’t help but overhear you two, and has someone really gone through the keep like that?” Chandra glanced between the men while feigning fear. “Has the paladin already arrived?”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” said the first man. “Sir Leroy will take care of this mess. He came from the king’s own city.”

Chandra relaxed in her chair and smiled to the men. “I feel much safer then. Surely that demon won’t leave the chapel.”

“Not at all miss. That demon won’t get past the paladin.”

\-----

Deep into the night, Chandra woke with a start. She slipped out of bed and pushed open the shutters to let in the moonlight. There she sat kneeling in the pale light with her sword in front of her. The white-gold ring on her finger began to faintly glow as she prayed to her goddess for protection and guidance.

She wanted to kill the paladin and be done with it, but she knew that this paladin had not yet sinned. Should he lay a hand on her, then she could strike him down. 

\-----

“The demon!” Terrified priests fled from the sound of her footsteps. She stepped slowly through the halls like a golden shadow on the wall-- it did not matter how far they ran, she would catch them. But as she turned the corner, she found the paladin waiting for her. The knight wore a strange helmet that rose almost like a crown. His white surcoat came to his knees, but what gave her pause was the massive hammer he wielded. It was a massive rock larger than the man’s chest on an iron rod. When he raised it, a blast of white energy exploded from it throwing her back against the wall. She screamed in shock and pain. Disoriented and ill prepared to fight him, Chandra ran.

\-----

She felt a nagging that evening. There was something she needed to find in the woods to the north east, but she couldn’t place the feeling. It had to be divine inspiration, for she had nothing in those woods or any reason to go, but the nagging chewed on her like a rodent.

While she ate, she heard the two men from before gossiping like children.

“The paladin killed the demon! Evidently it wasn’t a ghost, but just another brass armored heathen. A woman even!”

“You idiot, he didn’t kill it. He chased it off.”

“If Sir Leeroy didn’t kill it, then he’ll stay around until the deed is done.”

“I hope so, but did you hear they caught another monster? Something not right is coming from the north. People who don’t eat or sleep… an aimless army of lifeless knights marching through Catarina and heading here.”

“Oh yeah… isn’t that what that first heathen was talking about? Some curse from the old gods? I’m glad we’re not a part of that…”

Chandra knew why the men were speaking so openly. They were baiting her, or perhaps not her but whoever might be the ‘demon.’ They might be on to her, as she was a woman from out of town, but she had no intention to stay long enough to confirm their suspicions. More importantly, this captured undead was bait. The paladin would be guarding them while the cleric who had killed Samson would likely be roaming free. She would make her point clear in his execution, then she would disappear to the woods to find whatever it was her goddess required.

She slipped away into the night with no intention to return. The undead would be kept deep within the keep in the orphanage’s holding cells. The paladin would be laying in wait for her there with any number of soldiers prepared to spring a trap, but she didn’t care for the undead. Samson had arrived before her to warn these people of the coming curse, a curse not even her goddess could abate with all her power, and they had rejected him. Let the curse spread here-- her target was Samson’s murderer. 

There was no need to break into the keep or the chapel itself. The halls of worship were partially open to the faithful, and she looked the part. She slipped into the chapel and then into the monastery where the soft monks would be hiding. Already she knew who was the man in charge, for he had been rapidly approaching the position when she was a child. Ursinius. The man who had been responsible both for her life and her suffering. Her father. She stopped in the hall before his door, steeled herself, then knocked on the door.

There was a moment of silence, and then “Come in.”

Chandra pushed the door open and met the man’s gaze. He was not the powerful man who had kept her under a tight lease. He was withered, old, and smiling like a lecher. 

“Hello, Father. It’s been awhile.”

The color drained from his face as she approached. “I have no daughters--” he blurted out before starting up from his desk. 

“Yes, you do. But a heathen such as yourself would never recognize the gift that the Dark Moon had given you. How long have you thought me dead?”

“I  _ have  _ no daughters!” He shouted, face turning pink as he began to recognize his child. As she summoned an ethereal blue sword from the air.

“But you do. The Dark Moon judges you, Ursinius, and she has found you guilty. You will die for this, and your own hated child will display your corpse in warning for your crimes.”

Ursinius tried to scramble away from her, but thirty years in the Dark Moon’s order had created a powerful and vengeful woman. She lunged forward and grabbed him by the collar of his robe before throwing him to the ground. He cried out, crawling on the ground as she stepped over him and kicked him to his back.

“Look at me, Ursinius.” She placed her foot on his chest and held him still. Desperate, he clawed at her sabaton. “ _ Look  _ at me.” Chandra dug her boot into his sternum. “Your first crime was not the murder of Samson, Blade of the Dark Moon, but it shall be your last, and you shall pay for every sin you have ever committed.”

His screams should have echoed through the hallways, but no sound came from him as she drew out his sentence. He paid for her childhood. For every abuse he’d committed. For every woman he’d harmed. For every child who had suffered in his care. She took her time in her retribution, and when she was done she took his mangled, bloody,  _ earless, _ corpse and tossed it upon the chapel’s altar.

She left that evening to follow the goddess’s inspiration deep into the north western forest. 


End file.
